Fall
by AVCMez
Summary: John is failing to cope with Sherlock's death and he too, is ready to fly.
1. Chapter 1

**_Fall_**

The earth crumbled underneath my feet, the sound of waves crashing below. Rays of warmth reached my face. The scent of the sea engulfed me.

I inched myself towards the edge. This was it. There was no turning back once I took that next step. He was gone. I had tried to live without him, but I couldn't. Life was too dull without him.

My arms were outstretched, like how a bird might be poised for flight.

This was how he fell on that day three years ago; and soon, I would join him.

I almost felt . . . happy. It was more of a content feeling, a moment of freedom.

I stepped forward, but as I was about to put all my weight forward, something interrupted my daze; feet pounding against rocks, distant cries.

For one fleeting moment, I hesitated. I recognised that voice. That deep baritone voice. But it couldn't be him. He was dead, wasn't he?

I wanted to stop so badly, to see if it was really him; but it was too late. I was already falling.

As my death awaited on the rocks below, a single word echoed out among the Cliffside.

"John!"

It was his voice.

It was Sherlock's voice.


	2. Chapter 2

The world had ended for the man kneeling at the edge of the cliff. His black coat shook as the harsh wind blew at him, his equally dark curls looking knotted and untidy. His entire body shook with so much sadness that he could not make a sound.

Moments earlier his only friend had jumped from the spot he was grieving at. He had tried to stop him but it was futile. He could see him now.

His sandy hair whipping in the wind, his foot stepping out. He had noticed how he froze once the wind had carried his voice to him, through deduction how he wanted to stop and turn to see him; and from reason how he wished to reverse the fall.

But things come too late.

His John was gone, and he would never be coming back.

Sherlock slowly stood up and tried to regain his bored and uninterested nature. It almost worked, but his emotions were betraying him.

The tears kept falling from his eyes, each one a brutal reminder of the fall.

After fighting with himself for a brief moment, he abruptly turned.

His work was done. Lestrade was safe. Mrs Hudson was safe. But John, he thought bitterly, he could never have saved John.

But he tried. Little clues, he left him. Ones that were so _easy _to piece together. He even tried to tell him. But his, he thought slightly more fondly, average mind couldn't work it out; and had resulted in . . .

He sucked in a deep breath. No. Not now. He was doing _so _well.

Sherlock shivered. It was getting cold so quickly nowadays. Wrapping his coat tightly around him, he walked off.

He had only walked for a few steps when something stopped him.

There was . . . something. In his head.

Drumming?

No, it was too inconsistent.

Whirring?

That was better. Now where had heard it before?

Five? No _ten_ years ago.

Where?

A walk to St Bart's.

A colour flashed in his mind. Blue! _Yale _blue, to be specific.

He squinted his eyes. The noise was becoming louder by the second.

Ugh! So _loud_!

His eyes snapped open. It all came at once. 1960's London Police Box. Time And Relative Dimensions In Space. Time-lord. Companion.

"Doctor!" Sherlock cried.

He remembered! Exploring Raxacoricofallapatorius! Dinner with the Silurians! Rescuing the entire human race!

It all came crashing back!

He spun around. The noise had finally stopped. And there it stood. The TARDIS.

There was a click from inside and a sandy-haired man, dressed in a green jacket and trousers slowly walked out, rubbing his head.

"John?"

The man's head snapped up and his jaw dropped open.

It was him! His John! His . . . friend.

"John!" He leaped towards him and encased him in a tight embrace, all traces of his composure gone, "I thought-"

He was cut off with an unexpected punch in the face. Sherlock landed on the ground hard. He certainly didn't deduce that.

"John . . . I . . . what?" Sherlock babbled, getting up.

"I can't believe you _faked_ your _death_!"

"Yes, but-"

"Do you even realize how that would make me _feel_?"

"John-"

"I almost_-_"

"I did it to save your life!" Sherlock shouted.

There was stunned silence.

"Three snipers. Three bullets. One for Lestrade, one for Mrs Hudson and a final one for you."

Sherlock breathed deeply, "Even when Moriaty killed himself, that didn't relinquished the grip on the snipers. I . . . had to jump. To save you."

"I'm sorry, I didn't know."

"That's because you're an idiot."

A smile tugged at John's lips. As they hugged each other, a new voice entered the conversation.

"Ah, yes. Group hug. Always makes things better. All's forgiven then?" he said.

Sherlock looked past John into the eyes of a young man.

"Doctor." Sherlock said.

He looked young, but his eyes betrayed him. They were like whirlpools of energy, the never-ending black-holes of a century year-old man. A new face, a new body. He had regenerated.

The Doctor clasped his hands together, "Hi! Yes. I know you, don't I?" Sherlock didn't have time to feel disappointed before he smacked his head, "Of course! Stupid, s_tupid. _I remember you! Regeneration makes the memories all spacey-wacey."

The Doctor promptly ran over to him, slapped his hands on his shoulders and air-kissed him on both cheeks. His grin was large, "That's how you greet each other nowadays? No? Well, anyway. Sherlock Holmes! Consulting Detective!"

He turned to John, "And John Watson! Saved lives, you did!" He too, received a kiss on both cheeks.

"Will you stay?" Sherlock asked.

"Afraid not Shelly. Places to go, times to see." With a little wave, he disappeared into the TARDIS. But the door opened again, "I almost forgot!" he fondly patted the TARDIS, "Old girl's craving for some fun, and well," he looked meaningfully at John and Sherlock, "would you like to join us?"

The potential companions both looked at each other and said in unison, "Yes."

And so the trio disappeared into the blue box, adventures to be had.


End file.
